The Coming Conquest of England

A >> August Niemann >> The Coming Conquest of England


An even stronger and more damaging effect than that of the attack
itself, was produced by the ceaseless cries of "Allah! Allah!" which
proceeded from the Afghans and the Turkestan cavalry, and penetrated
to the Mohammedans who stood in the British lines. Heideck saw quite
clearly that, here and there, the Indian soldiers ceased firing as if
in obedience to a word of command, and could distinguish how English
officers in their excitement struck the men with the flat of the sword
and threatened them with the revolver. Obviously, the leaders had lost
all influence over the foreign elements under their command. Close to
the Commander-in-Chief an English captain was bayoneted by an Indian
soldier, and there could be no doubt that similar cases of open mutiny
took place amongst the other Indian troops.

The men, who had only followed the orders of the foreign tyrants with
the utmost reluctance, evidently believed the moment had come for
shaking off the hated yoke, and at the same time the old enmity between
the Mohammedans and Hindus, the rivalry between the two religions, which
often in times of peace occasioned bloody feuds, burst into open flames.
In the midst of the British army duels to the death were fought out
between the irreconcilable adversaries. Thus it was unavoidable that the
entire discipline became shaken and destroyed.

The battlefield was an awful spectacle. Before the front innumerable
wounded, crying out for help, where no help was possible, were writhing
in agony, for the retreat of the English artillery had had to be
executed without thought of those left behind; wounded horses, wildly
kicking to free themselves from their harness, increased the horror of
the terrible scene, whilst stray divisions of English cavalry riding
amongst them were fired upon by their own infantry out of fear of
the advance of the Russian riflemen. Although in war all battlefields
present a spectacle of the utmost horror, so that only the excitement
of the moment enables human beings to endure it, yet the picture this
battle of the advanced lines presented surpassed all imagination. The
want of discipline amongst the English lines increased more and more,
and the English officers had to fix their whole attention upon their own
troops, instead of upon the movements of the enemy. The necessity for
this was soon evident.

Prince Tasatat was the first to leave Colonel Baird with his entire
force, and openly to march over to the enemy. His example was decisive
for the Indians who were still hesitating, and the number of those going
over to the enemy increased from minute to minute.

A uniform control of the line of battle had long since become
impossible. Colonel Baird gave orders for his guns to open fire upon
Prince Tasatat's company, and, like him, many other commanders fought
their own individual battle just as their own judgment prompted. Indian
regiments dispersed in all directions, because the men cared less for
fighting than for getting booty from the prisoners and wounded. There
were hand-to-hand fights in many parts of the battlefield, which, owing
to the fanatical rage of the combatants, degenerated into horrible
butchery. Those falling into the hands of the Afghans were most to be
pitied. For these devils in human shape cut off the heads of all their
prisoners and all wounded, whether Mohammedans, Hindus, or English,
without any further ado, and in their rapacity tore the valuables from
the bodies of the dead and wounded.

A line of fugitives, like an immense stream, passed the English
regiments, which still stood firm in serried ranks, making for the plain
of Lahore, in order to find protection behind the walls of the fortified
city.

In Heideck's opinion the day was lost to the English, and he prepared
himself to die a soldier's death, together with the brave men
surrounding him. With feelings of sincerest admiration he confessed how
great was the bravery, and how admirable the discipline that animated
the English-born troops. Those regiments and batteries in which no
native elements were mingled, stood calm and unshaken amongst all the
terrible confusion, and thanks to their bravery, the battle, which
opened in such disorder, began to present clear features, like those of
the sharp peaks of a chain of mountains appearing above the mist, as it
rolls down.

Instead of the semibarbarous horsemen that had opened the attack,
new Russian batteries and colossal masses of infantry, with compact
companies of riflemen, as well as several regiments of dragoons, now
faced the English troops.

The Commander-in-Chief, with about 6,000 men and two batteries, was with
the second English division, which had been greatly reduced in numbers.
It was evidently his object to retire in good order towards Lahore, and
to cover the retreat with his best troops.

He succeeded in withdrawing two smaller bodies from the right and left
wing respectively by despatching orderlies. But the first division was
so closely engaged with Russian infantry that an orderly retreat was
almost impossible.

Notwithstanding this, the Commander was bent on making the attempt to
withdraw also the first division of his army. He despatched one of his
adjutants to Colonel Baird, who still had perhaps about 2,000 men under
his command, with the order to break off the battle and to retire. The
young officer saluted with grave face, drew his sword, and galloped
away. But he had only traversed a small part of his dangerous journey,
a distance of about a mile, when he fell a victim to the call of duty,
being attacked and hurled from the saddle by a body of Cossacks mounted
on small, rough-haired, but very swift steeds.

The General appeared undecided whether to stake another young life on
this hopeless test. Heideck rode up to him and lifted his hand to his
helmet.

"Will Your Excellency allow me to ride? I am a friend of Colonel Baird
and should be glad of the opportunity of showing him my gratitude for
his kindness to me."

The General sharply scrutinised the gentleman who was unknown to him,
who looked like an officer, though not wearing the prescribed uniform;
but he did not take the time to question him.

"Ride!" he said shortly. "The Colonel is no longer to hold out; he is to
march to the right and retreat towards Lahore--if possible."

Heideck saluted and turned his horse. He had replaced his revolver in
his belt, and returned his sword to its sheath.

Not by the aid of weapons, but solely by the rapidity of his horse could
he hope to reach his goal. He gave his steed its head, and encouraged
it by calling to it. The animal did not disappoint the hopes placed
upon it. It seemed to fly, rather than run over the trampled ground. The
Cossacks, who attempted to intercept this single horseman, were unable
to reach him. And of all the shots aimed at the bold rider not one
reached its mark.

The volunteer orderly reached the brigade without harm. But he was too
late; almost at the same moment the collision with the Russian infantry,
which, in spite of their losses, had advanced steadily to the attack,
took place. In order to sell his life and those of his brave troops as
dearly as possible, Colonel Baird had given orders to form a square, in
the midst of which the horsemen and the guns were placed. Many officers,
leaving the saddle, had picked up the rifles and cartridge-boxes of
those that were killed, and, levelling their bayonets, had taken their
places in the front rank of the square. Breathing heavily, and covered
with perspiration Heideck stopped before the Colonel and made his
report.

But the brave Englishman pointed with his hand towards the Russians.

"Impossible," he said. "We are destined to die upon this spot."

Then he also dismounted and seized a rifle. From a thousand British
throats a loud "Hurrah!" broke forth, for the Russians had reached the
square, and a hand-to-hand combat took place.

The horror of this terrible struggle at close quarters, the English
fighting with the struggle of despair against a foe outnumbering them
many times, impressed itself indelibly upon the memory of the young
German. He, too, had drawn his sword, but in spite of his personal
relations, his political sympathies were not on the English side.

Suddenly he heard, close to him, a hoarse cry of rage, and, on turning
round, perceived to his boundless surprise the face of Captain Irwin,
terribly distorted by hatred and fury. He had supposed him to be with
the depot in Chanidigot, but Irwin must have found an opportunity
of getting away from that command. Indeed, under the existing
circumstances, it must have seemed equivalent to a severe censure, and
Irwin had attached himself to the troops taking the field. He was now
fighting in this death-struggle, rifle in hand, like a private soldier.
The red blood staining the point of his bayonet bore eloquent testimony
to his bravery. But in this supreme moment his country's enemies were
forgotten in the sight of the mortal foe, the object of his personal
hate, by whose courageous action the dastardly plot against Edith had
been frustrated. Here were place and opportunity offered for satisfying
the thirst for revenge, which consumed him. What mattered the death of a
single unit in the midst of this great holocaust?

Before Heideck could divine the intention of the wretched man he was
attacked by his bayonet. It was solely the rearing of a frightened horse
that saved the Captain's life; the thrust of the bayonet grazed the
animal's neck. At the same moment the terrible sword-cut of a Russian
fell upon Irwin's unprotected neck (for he had lost his helmet), and
with such force that, with a hollow cry, he fell on his face.

Suddenly the curiously altered, now hoarse voice of the Colonel struck
Heideck's ear: "What are you still doing here? Ride, for Heaven's sake!
Ride quickly! If you should see them again, take my last loving messages
to my poor wife and children! Stay by them!"

The blood from a deep wound on his forehead was pouring over his face,
and Heideck saw that only by the greatest exertion of will could he keep
himself on his legs. He wanted to reply, but the Colonel had already
again hurled himself into the tangled throng of fighters, and a few
seconds later fell under the butt-end blows and sabres of the Russians.

Then Hermann Heideck turned his horse and galloped off.




XIV

IN THE PANIC-STRICKEN CITY


As on his ride to Colonel Baird's brigade, so also was Heideck on his
return threatened by manifold forms of death. Although he successfully
and happily avoided all compact bodies of troops on his way across the
bloody battlefield, yet single Russian horsemen came up close to him and
more than once he heard the shrill whistle of bullets as they whizzed
past his head. But in the battle-fever that had seized him he had
no thought of danger: all his thoughts were solely occupied with the
question as to how he should contrive to arrive at Lahore, in order to
fulfil the last request of the Colonel.

Bleeding from several wounds, his brave stallion put forth his utmost
efforts to carry his rider safely away from the turmoil of battle. The
wounded animal was still able to travel a considerable distance at full
gallop. But suddenly he began to slacken his pace and to stumble, and
Heideck perceived that his strength was exhausted. He dismounted in
order to examine the injuries the horse had sustained, and at once
perceived that he could not expect further exertion from the poor brute.
In addition to a bayonet-thrust on the neck, it had also a bullet-hole
on the left hind flank, and it was from this wound that the blood was
principally streaming. In stertorous panting the poor beast laid his
head on his master's shoulder, and Heideck stroked and patted his
forehead. "Poor chap--you have done your duty, and I must leave you here
behind." And now, for the first time, the anxious dread overcame him
that he, too, would not escape with his life from this battlefield,
for he perceived a horseman in Indian uniform approaching him, waving
a sword. Heideck drew his revolver from his belt in order to protect
himself against his assailant. But he immediately recognised in his
supposed enemy his faithful boy, Morar Gopal, who beamed with joy at
having by chance again found his master, whom he had believed to be
dead. He wanted at once to leave Heideck his horse, and to attempt to
make his own way on foot. But the German officer would not accept this
unselfish sacrifice on the part of his servant; but he was relieved
of the necessity of again separating from his faithful henchman by the
fortuitous circumstance that, at that very moment, an English officer's
riderless charger came in sight. The animal, a beautiful chestnut, was
uninjured, and allowed itself to be caught without trouble. They
were now in a position to continue their flight together, and Heideck
resolved to turn towards the left English wing, because, as it appeared
to him, the action was there proceeding with less ill-fortune than at
other parts of the now totally defeated British army. This was certainly
not the shortest way to reach Lahore, but it would have been a foolhardy
enterprise to join the wild throng of fleeing troops and their pursuers
which was already pouring along the road towards Lahore.

The far-stretching plantations of Shah Dara, lying on both banks of the
Ravi, with the bridge of boats connecting them, were, as a matter of
fact, still occupied by English troops, who had until now maintained
their positions without any severe loss; but they had been, of course,
in superior numbers to the Russians confronting them. For the attack
upon Shah Dara, with which the battle had opened, had in the main been
only a feint; its object being to force the English centre, against
which the main attack was to be directed, to send out reinforcements,
and thereby fatally to weaken itself. Heideck had seen with his own eyes
how completely this plan had succeeded. Now, however, when the victory
they had gained made their forces in other positions available for the
work, the Russians commenced to attack this position also in superior
numbers. Russian battalions from the reserves were being hurried up at
the double, and new batteries made their appearance, ready to open fire
upon Shah Dara and the mausoleum of Shah Jahangir, which lay to the
south of it.

The English on their side were prudent enough not to engage in a
hopeless battle of sheer desperation, but began their retreat, whilst
they had still time to carry it out in tolerable order.

When Heideck had reached the southern end of the plantations, a regiment
of Bengal cavalry was just crossing the pontoon bridge, and Heideck
joined it. A Russian shell, which burst right in the middle of the
troop, without, however, despite the severe losses it had caused,
interrupting the formation, was a clear proof that the situation was
here also quite untenable.

With comparatively few losses and without having once been drawn into an
engagement, the regiment drew up close under the citadel, which, in the
north of Lahore, lies inside the outer works.

But, with dismay, the hapless lancers perceived that the murderous
shot and shell were pursuing them even here. Yet the bullets were
not intended for them, but for the treacherous Indian troops and the
irregular Russian cavalry, which surged up, in wild panic, against the
walls. The effect of the fire was, however, none the less disastrous on
that account. The English garrison which had remained in the city had
closed all the gates, and appeared to have made up their minds to let no
one in, either friend or foe. All the same, the commander of the Bengal
regiment drew his men together and with irresistible weight forced
his way right through the confused, huddling mass of men engaged in
hand-to-hand combat beneath the walls. He made straight for one of
the gates, and those within happily understood and anticipated his
intentions. Confident that the weighty blows and thrusts of the cavalry
would beat off the enemy and prevent them from forcing their way in with
them, the garrison opened the gate at the critical moment, and, together
with his regiment, Heideck and his faithful companion managed to enter
the city. The lancers made their way into the citadel, and Heideck and
Morar Gopal, who had followed him like his shadow, turned their steps
towards the Charing Cross Hotel. It was, however, far from easy to get
there; for the streets were packed with an impenetrable mob of howling
and gesticulating natives, who were manifestly in the greatest state of
excitement. The news that the English had lost the battle had long since
reached the city, and the apprehensions which had long been entertained
that such tidings could not fail to have a disastrously disquieting
effect upon the Indian population, were only too soon seen to be
justified. In all the brown faces which he saw directed towards him
Heideck clearly read detestation and menace. They naturally regarded him
as an Englishman, and it was only his decided manner and the naked sword
in his hand that prevented the rabble from venting in a personal attack
their rage against one of the hated race of their oppressors.

The door of the hotel was closed, probably because an attack was feared
on the part of the natives; but as soon as a white man, who was at once
regarded as an English officer, demanded admittance, it was opened.
Heideck found most of the officers' wives and children, who were living
in the hotel, assembled in the hall and the dining-room which led from
it. The foreboding of a terrible disaster and the fear of coming events,
which was perpetually increased by the noise in the streets, did not
allow the poor creatures to rest longer in their rooms. Mrs. Baird and
Edith Irwin were not, however, among those who thronged round Heideck
and, in a hundred confused questions, hoped to obtain from the
dust-begrimed man, who had evidently come from the battlefield, news as
to how matters stood. Heideck said nothing more than that the army
was retreating, bravely fighting the while. It would have been useless
cruelty to increase the terror and despair of these unhappy creatures
by a detailed account of the whole truth. He had almost to tear himself
away by force from this close knot of inquirers, in order to go up
to Mrs. Baird's room. It was the first joyous feeling that he had
experienced throughout this disastrous day, when in the friendly "Come
in," in answer to his knock, he recognised Edith Irwin's voice. The
fear that something might have happened to her during his absence had
unceasingly tortured him during the last few hours, and for a moment he
forgot all the terrors that surrounded her in the rapture which, as he
entered, her incomparable beauty awoke in him.

She had risen from the sofa in the middle of the room and stood with
a serious, but perfectly composed face, and with bright eyes, which
appeared prepared for even the extremest danger. Mrs. Baird was, with
her two little girls, in a corner on her knees. So completely was she
absorbed in her religious devotions that she had not heard Heideck's
entrance into the room. It was only when Edith exclaimed, "Here is Mr.
Heideck, dear friend; I knew he would come," that she sprang up in great
excitement.

"Thank God! You have come from my husband? How have you left him? Is he
alive?"

"I left the Colonel, as he was defending himself at the head of his
brave troops against the enemy. He bade me give you his love." He had
endeavoured to give a firm tone to his voice. But the sharp feminine
instinct of the unhappy woman guessed what was behind his words,
intended to give comfort.

"Why don't you tell me the truth? My husband is dead!"

"He was wounded, but you need not give up the hope of seeing him again
alive."

"If he is wounded, I will go to him. You will conduct me, Mr. Heideck!
There must be a possibility of getting to him."

"I earnestly beseech you, my dear Mrs. Baird, to compose yourself. It
is quite natural that your heart should draw you to your husband's side;
but it is quite impossible for you to carry out your intention. The
night is drawing on, and even if it were broad daylight nobody would
be able to get through the confusion of the retiring army to the place
where your husband must be sought."

"The battle is then lost? Our army is in full retreat?"

"The treachery of the Indian troops is to blame for this disaster. Your
countrymen, Mrs. Baird, have fought like heroes, and as a lost battle
does not yet mean a lost campaign, they will perhaps soon retrieve
to-day's disaster."

"But what is to become of us? The wounded will be brought in here, won't
they? Therefore I shall not think of leaving before I see my husband
again."

Her determination to remain in the panic-stricken city would certainly
have been impossible to shake by any art of persuasion, but Heideck did
not dream of attempting to dissuade Mrs. Baird from her resolve. It was
his firm conviction that the flight to Amritsar, which the Colonel had
advised in case of a defeat, was, under the present circumstances, quite
impracticable. As a matter of fact, there was scarcely anything else
possible but to remain in the hotel and patiently await the development
of events.

It was now quite impossible for white women and children to trust
themselves in the streets in the midst of the excited populace; but
Heideck believed that they were, for the present, quite safe in the
house, thinking that the fanaticism of the natives would not culminate
in an attack upon the hotel so long as any considerable body of English
soldiers remained in the town. But only too soon he was compelled to
admit that he had under-estimated the seriousness of the situation. A
ruddy, flickering flame, which suddenly lit up the room which had been
filled by the dying evening glow, caused him to rush to the window,
when, to his horror, he perceived that one of the houses on the opposite
side of the street was on fire, and that in the adjacent building the
tongues of flame had caught the wooden pillars of the verandah. There
was no doubt but that the hotel would, within a few minutes, be involved
in the conflagration.

Under these circumstances it was impossible to think of remaining longer
in the hotel. Its massive walls could, perhaps, withstand the fire for a
time, but the biting volumes of smoke, which had already taken Heideck's
breath away when he had opened the window for a moment, would soon
render it impossible for human beings to stay longer in the heat. All
at once came a heavy knocking at the door, and Morar Gopal, who had been
looking for Heideck everywhere in the hotel, entreated his master to
make his escape as quickly as possible.

The German officer was fully convinced that he had now to exchange one
danger for a peril perhaps even greater. But there was no time for delay
or consideration.

"We are in the midst of a fire, Mrs. Baird," he said. "No one in the
general confusion will attempt to stay the raging element, and if you do
not wish to be stifled with your children, you must follow me. I hope to
be able to bring you, without harm, into the citadel or into some other
place of safety."

Edith Irwin had already taken one of the little girls into her arms; and
when the Colonel's wife was looking about her with a wild expression,
as if she wished to try and save some of her precious valuables, Edith
emphatically insisted upon her hurrying. "There is nothing more precious
than the life of your children. Let everything go, in God's name!"

The poor woman, whose senses now began to fail her in the terrors of the
moment, quietly obeyed the calm instructions of her young friend. The
other residents in the hotel had almost all already fled; only a few
unhappy women, who had completely lost their heads, wandered about the
lower rooms holding all manner of valueless objects, from which they
would not part, in their hands. Heideck called to them to follow him.
But they hardly understood him, and he had no more time to trouble about
the unfortunate creatures.

With a bare sabre in his hand the faithful Hindu endeavoured to make for
his master and those under his protection a path through the crowd which
was surging around the burning houses. It was now quite dark, and only
the red flames weirdly lit up the hideous nocturnal scene. The raging
fanaticism of the crowd appeared during the last half-hour to have
increased in vehemence. These men, at other times so modest, submissive,
and amiable, had suddenly become metamorphosed into a horde of
barbarians. Bare sabres and daggers flashed their menaces on every side,
and the air was rent by a deafening din. Never before had Heideck seen
human beings in such a state of frenzy. With wild gesticulations these
dark-skinned fellows were tossing their arms and legs; they gnashed
their teeth like wild beasts, and inflicted wounds on their own breasts
and limbs in order to intensify their lust of blood by the sight of it.